Seeing the lumbering mound of bones and debris distracted, a desperate Vaqqas quickly bent down to retrieve his fallen horn. He glanced regrettably at the gibbering doctor, now seeming a lost cause. He inhaled and blew mightily. The booming reverberating droning gave all on the battlefield pause and echoed off the buildings, the desperate signal could not be confused. Sweating profusely, he could only hope that the reinforcements would get here in time, but if not, at least he would not die in vain, he thought to himself, frowning at the monstrosity.

The path to its target obstructed by other foes, the grave-thing seemed to shift and distort, its skeletal frame shattering and reforming. The clinging grave soil that filled its chest rippled and boiled as additional bony parts unearthed themselves from within its ribcage. Where once it had one massive skull, it now had five, a choir of children’s skulls joining the first. Their bony mouths opened in a high-pitched keening, sending a nearly-palpable miasma of dread through the area, draining the courage and life from all around it.

Will Save DC 12 or be Frightened!

Sinking into the ground, the hideous grave-thing briefly vanished from sight, only to rise again, this time adjacent to the terrified doctor!

As the party gasped at the apparition’s uncanny resurgence, the demon-blooded rogue eyed Exeta and Therdamin. These two foes seemed to be the only ones who stood a chance against him within his shroud of darkness. The grave-monster’s keening seemed to unnerve him slightly, but he resisted the urge to run. Instead, he loped awkwardly toward Therdamin, hoping to take out the less fearsome of his foes before the other could take him in flank. Thrusting with his recurved short sword, the rogue managed to draw blood, but failed to strike the sturdy cleric’s vitals.

Seeing the monstrosity's terrifying display all came to be too much for Vaqqas. He had fought in dozens of battles, but those were against mortal men, nothing like this! He dropped his horn and ran away from the scene, with shameful tears clogging his vision.

As Exeta loped towards the rogue within the magical darkness, he heard the sickening peal emanate from the grave beast. The alchemist made the mistake of glancing over his shoulder to investigate. The horror had transformed; five infant skulls chattered atop the beast now - a totem to the deprivation and perversion of innocence! Exeta attempted to steel himself, but the image was simply too much for him and the man felt a cold sheen of sweat upon his face and a chill in his body - he had to escape this thing!Exeta ran forth - no longer directly towards the rogue but loping towards an alleyway. If he could just get out of sight of the thing for a second, He was sure he could recover himself...!

Will Save: (19:12:45) Minion: caesar193 rolls 1d20 and gets 10. Add my +2 for will, and 2 vs fear, and Peregrina breezes over the line

Though the mutation of the bone thing proved frightening, Peregrina had seen worse. The things she had seen in the height of battle were far more frightening than some monster growing a couple of heads and crying.

The monster had somehow magiked its way to the Doc, and so now Peregrina had a choice to make. Geri's wounds were fierce, and her heart screamed at her to apply first aid. But the doctor needed help too, and suspicious as he might seem, his public face was benign. Decisions, Decisions...

She turned from Geri's side to let loose an arrow. She aimed for a child's skull, perhaps that might help her comrades gain their wits. Saying a brief apology to the child whose skeleton she was about to disrespect, she let the arrow fly.

Whoever equipped the vicious dwarf had chosen their tools well: The grave-spawned horror that hunted Valnetor Dreimond evoked visions from his worst childhood nightmares. Even as it rose again beside him, the terrified doctor turned and bolted. One of the brothers fled beside him, hopelessly trying to hide his terror from the others.

His older brother's face seemed set in stone as he grimly strode toward their implacable foe. His blade whirled and chopped at the thing, tearing a massive chunk of bone and soil from its side, but it barely seemed to notice the wound. Peregrina was the only one close enough to hear the man's despairing voice. "What will it take to kill this thing?!"

The unholy scream twisted Ren's stomach, but the catfolk ruled the jungles. No mere warcry would scare a three-feather hunter into abandoning the fray. Not even one who had yet to score a solid strike on her foes this eve.

As the horror began to twist and shake its way into a new, even more terrible beast, Septimus gritted his teeth, and planted his feet. Every instinct within him screamed for him to leave the field of battle, to run, to hide like a child. And why not? It was a terror that wore the grave as a skin! Yet.. Yet, he had signed the Contract. The gods meant nothing to him, perhaps, but the contract was all important. And so he steadied himself, and struck again.

(06:45:21) Minion: Siren_no_Orakio rolls 1d20 and gets 1.

Struck a mighty blow, directly into the stones beneath the beast's feet, his spear jamming deeply into the ground, evoking a word unknown to the others here, but clearly his native tongue, and clearly a fairly vicious curse, before he did his best to haul the weapon from the soil and stone of the roadway...

I'm just gonna go ahead and assume that you already saved for this one, Wulf.

Tall Hakanis they called him. Or maybe that was his name, he had been called that for so long now that he could hardly tell anymore. He was a simple man, his family had been peat farmers. But no matter his origin, nothing could have prepared him for this night. Staring with horror, he wanted to run away. But instead, in mindless terror, he charged right at the thing, screaming almost inhumanly at the top of his lungs. He drove his scimitar deep into what constituted its flesh, mostly grave soil and bones from the looks of it. He was rewarded with a satisfying crunching sound as his blade dug deep.

A trio of feathers attached to a hilt fluttered through the air as Ren swung her blade at the last remaining foe. Alas, the terrible scream it had uttered had scattered the party across the area, most overcome with terror and fleeing for their lives, and thus it was up to those left to finish demolishing the ambush.

The Fates had other plans it seemed. Her attack was mistimed to a terrible degree, and didn't even connect with the creature as it twisted to make some attack on another of her allies. It was by the sheerest luck that she didn't lose her grip on the weapon when it kept going instead of burying itself in undead flesh. Those who spoke Numean would have their ears singed by the most unladylike curse that followed the unlucky attack.

Random.org has betrayed me. 2. I'm not even going to bother adding up the attack bonuses. There isn't a point, that was a miss.

Dribbling grave soil and fragments of bone, the unholy thing roughly pushed past its remaining foes, driven to continue pursuit of its assigned quarry. Its animating spirit yearned to crush and absorb the mortal lives it felt surrounding it, but the magic binding it left it no ability to resist. It began wading through the dusty soil toward the fleeing doctor, sinking slowly deeper with each ponderous step.

Yet another chance for attacks of opportunity from everyone who was in melee with the grave-thing (It isn’t any too bright…): Peregrina, Tall Hakanis, Septimus, and Ren all get to strike again!

Seeing the monster moving to pursue its victim, the rogue hissed in frustration. However terrifying the doctor might find the thing, the rogue doubted it possessed sufficient wit to finish him off. The only way the rogue might see any profit from this debacle would be to finish off some of the doctor’s guards and hangers-on, then bolt before reinforcements arrived.

Swiftly turning from thought to deed, the frustrated assassin lurched past Therdamin, plunging the others back into his magical darkness. With a cruel thrust, his short sword plunged into Tall Hakanis' back. A brief scream of pain, and the earnest warrior fell.

The rogue underestimated the dwarven scholar Therdamin, who gets an attack of opportunity as he passes…

Fleeing along the road, the frightened party members could hear shouts and the clatter of hooves, the sounds of distant armored figures rushing to their aid!

Swearing long and loud at the top of his lungs as he hauled on the spear, still stuck in the ground, Septimus had few options as the grave-born thing started to rush past him once more. Still, he would be d**ned if he would let this -thing- have victory over him. Planting his hands hard upon his grounded spear, as it went past, he flung his legs, through the path of the horror's own legs, even as he hauled upon the weapon to increase the the force available to his blow, a desperate attempt at tripping it up. "Fall back to the grave, beast!"

Wading into the soil, the ponderous horror stumbled clumsily over Septimus' outthrust leg, collapsing to the ground in a heap of disjointed bone and spattering grave mould. The hideous thing paused in the midst of the desperate struggle, collecting its disorganized material and getting its legs back under it.

A slave to the terror which reached his very core, the mishappen Exeta continued fleeing down the alley. The sounds of battle still could be heard behind him. Up ahead the alley ended into an adjacent street. If he could just make it there and collect himself...!

Even as his foot carried through the fell beast's legs, Septimus caught his own footing, standing tall and true as he finally wrenched his spear from the ground. Rising up over the grave horror's collapsed body, he gripped his spear tightly in both hands, and roared his defiance. And as that roar echoed in his ears, he brought the point of the weapon crashing down towards the gravestone that seemed to be the heart of the unholy thing, all the power of his body condensed into the blow.

Since Chaosmark has been unfortunately unavailable, I’ll act for Ren, starting with the Attack of Opportunity…

The thing shuddered and visibly crumbled beneath the power of Septimus’ mighty blow. The gravestone nested in its pelvis cracked as the spear struck it, sending stony fragments flying.

As the lumbering menace stumbled and fell before Septimus’ fury, the Neamuan swordmistress’ blade swung down mightily, cleaving through bone and soil and even shattering the brittle stone of the antique cenotaph. The thing collapsed with a low, rumbling sigh, its remains crumbling into dust and stony fragments. A nauseating stench befouled the air, the stink of long-forgotten tombs and dust-fouled liches.

Ren did 10 more points of damage and the thing was DONE…

Stalking past the grave-thing’s vile miasma, Ren moved fearlessly into the magical shadows surrounding the demon-blooded assassin. Her eyes were useless to her in the darkness, but she had other senses. The catfolk hunter possessed excellent hearing and her sense of smell was keener than all but the most sensitive of humans. Led half by scent, half by intuition, she sensed the killer’s infernal taint near the magical darkness’ heart. She began whirling her blade in the defensive web of steel known as the shadowguard, its tip flicking out periodically toward her foe.

Unfortunately, Ren missed the villain. Vaqqas retreats to a nearby street where he collects his wits. Tall Hakanis bleeds.

As the grave-thing collapsed, the wounded rogue nervously assessed his remaining enemies. He was confident that he could take out one or two more, but how soon would their reinforcements begin arriving? With his injuries, he doubted that he could flee far. He had one task he needed to accomplish before he dared leave: Turning down the alley where his ally had fallen, the failed assassin cleanly severed the dwarf’s head and speared it with his sword to take with him.

Peregrina, Therdamin, Septimus, and Ren can go. The others are collecting their wits nearby.

Peregrina looked down at Geri once again, checking over his many wounds and cuts. It wasn't the best healing job ever, but it'd work for now, at least until she could get him to an actual doctor. Maybe that Doctor Dreimond could examine him. That is, if Dreimond was still alive.

When Peregrina stood up, to examine the scene, Geri whined piteously. She knelt back down, and stroked his fur.

"Your going to be all right, Geri. We'll get you fixed up in no time."

She stood again, and drew out her bow. Slipping an arrow from her quiver, she strung it, and looked around for a target.

Septimus had actually done something useful. Weird. He was a mercenary, and stuck around against the grave thing? Perhaps there was more to him, a depth of character, than what met the eye. Peregrina saw Therdamin throw his staff at the rogue, who was... chopping off the dwarf's head?

Whatever his agenda was, Peregrina decided to stop it. Drawing her bow, she let loose and arrow for the rogue.

Arrow roll: (16:31:47) Minion: caesar193 rolls 1d20 and gets 18. Well, it ain't a crit, but I'll take it. And for damage: (16:33:38) Minion: caesar193 rolls 1d4 and gets 2 (with some pluses you put in that figure in some how). Did I kill him?

As he straightened up from the collapsed horror, Septimus shook his head clear, and spat into the pile of the thing's remains. One day, perhaps, he would spit on the corpse of the man who dreamed such a thing. But that was for another day, for despite the pain and stiffness that coursed through his joints from the cockatrice's venom, he had a job to do yet. And so he stalked into the magical darkness, feeling before him with the iron shod end of his spear.

There. The noise of the cat-person, the sound of blade hacking neck, the sound of arrow striking flesh. He let his hands slide down the spear, gripping it much as if it were a great sword. It would open him up to a counter strike, perhaps, but he raised the weapon high, swinging it through the broadest arc he could.

The darkness wasn't normally a problem but that d**nable scent of brimstone coming off her target filled the small space of the alley, making it nearly impossible to pinpoint where exactly her target was with her nose. Cat ears twitched at the scrape of movement and a meaty thunk of flesh being parted where she had last sensed the rogue. Her blade licked out into the darkness, striking like a serpent at the half-breed.

Despite the darkness, the cat-warrior’s strike had nearly gone home. Glancing behind him, the rogue’s dark vision could make out the garbage and shattered debris littering his hoped-for escape route. The dwarven priest would have several more opportunities to hurl his accursed staff if he turned to flight before dealing with him.

Reeling back, the demon-breed hurled his vicious chalicar at Therdamin! A wince of pain crossed his features as he threw, the doctor’s poison burning through his veins. The rogue glared with frustration as his weapon sped past his foe, cursing the cruel toxin that stole away his coordination and left him in agony. Despite the risk, he had to flee. Lurching and half-falling, he retreated down the debris-choked alley.

Their chests still heaving with remnants of the grave-horror’s supernatural terror, the rest of the party gathered their strength in nearby Sling Street. Scattered in their panic, the warriors stood in the darkened lane, peering half-blind through the darkness.

Further down Sling Street, a hobgoblin’s flint struck steel. Flame slowly spread along the eunuch’s newly lit torch. Sandaled feet came pounding down the street as reinforcements began to arrive.